Reeling In the Years
by Somberlittleman
Summary: A few of Logan's musings while tangled up with Raven. She's had a strange but surprisingly constant spot in his life through the years.


Crossposted on AO3. Content warning for erotic choking.

* * *

Of course, they always seemed to end up this way anymore. Whether their paths had crossed on official mutant sorts of business, or simply because they both tended to pick up side jobs in seedier walks of life, for some reason they hadn't managed to kill each other yet. As he considered the dip of her waist and her deep, even breath, he decided that this was alright.

Raven was basking . That's the only word he had to describe her habitual stretching, lying back with her eyes closed, and the almost-but-not-quite sleep state she attained without fail between rounds of fucking. One of the reasons he was so given to falling into bed with her was her stamina. She was one of the few women he'd been with who could match him in that regard. Raven had a shameless joy for sex and was never surprised by anything he wanted to do with her. She'd caught him off guard with a few things, which he appreciated immensely.

As long as their speech was limited to a very few topics, they were a match made in heaven. As long as neither of them thought too hard about the world outside whatever motel, car, or even forest they shed their clothes in, they could be more relaxed than they could be with anybody else. They shared an odd sort of bond. It was a bond of survivors, of very old people who'd had the world change drastically around them while they were traumatized and fighting within it. Perhaps they couldn't feel emotionally, personally secure with each other. They shouldn't , really. But they _did_ have a certain camaraderie. Both of them knew that there were only a handful of people on the earth they could possibly say the phrase "about a hundred years ago I was in…" to, and have it be understood. Old jokes, schools of thought, songs and books and philosophies had been forgotten and lost by a general public they couldn't belong to anymore. It was refreshing, then, to be with somebody for even a night who could understand any bit of cultural shorthand that might fall from their lips.

She pulled him out of his thoughts as she opened her eyes and moved, positioning herself gracefully on top of him. He didn't allow her the upper hand for long, taking a fistful of her hair and using sheer force to maneuver her. The filthiest of language was quick on her tongue, and he silenced it in short order. Not many were allowed to be privy to the side of Raven Darkholme that liked being pushed around and got off on being dominated. In fact, not many were privy to Raven Darkholme at all. She'd told him once, quietly, when they were both drunk. She'd told him she only slept with people in her blue form when the other person had some staying power (no one-nighters, nothing for work) and when she was certain that doing so wouldn't get her or them killed _. You're unkillable,_ she had said.

He knew he wasn't the only one.

 _Who else?_ He had prodded.

 _Creed_.

Expected.

 _Irene_.

He had raised an eyebrow. He'd had to wait a while until he got a better answer.

 _Destiny. The precog. If being known to be close to me was a danger to her, then it would have been her own fault and she accepted it._

Logan had poured her another drink, and asked, _Was it?_

 _No_.

She took the cheap whiskey, knocked it back like a champ. Not that he expected otherwise.

 _No, she died for other reasons,_ she had said.

And he'd smelled anger on her and suddenly, they were talking about something else. Then they weren't talking at all. He hadn't pushed the subject again.

"What are you thinking about?" Raven asked then and there, flipping their positions. "You're distracted tonight. I can finish this off myself if you've got someplace to be."

One part haughty, one part innuendo, one part impatient. It was good to know she hadn't changed.

"Just about how I'm the only one doing this kind of shit to you," Logan said, grappling with her for a moment and finally pinning her to the bed. She took a moment to breathe, most likely finding it a bit difficult now his hand was around her throat. She gave him a wicked look and wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Oh? Says who?"

"Said you," he grunted, gripping her hip with his free hand and stopping her from grinding on him. Teasing her. Denying her. "And that big fucking box of dominatrix stuff in your apartment."

One of her apartments, anyway. He wasn't actually sure what she considered to be her primary residence. If she had one at all. But the place he was thinking of was at least long term, as her scent had comfortably permeated the place when she'd taken him there.

"I do hate being predictable," she ground out. He occupied her mind and her mouth after that, and she seemed pleased enough with the amount of attention he paid her the rest of the night.

* * *

In the smallest hours of the morning, Logan knew it was nearly time to go. She was worn out and even he was feeling the need for sleep, but he wasn't about to stick around. The most distracting thing about this particular tryst was how badly he'd realized he _wanted_ to stay. Before they were even halfway through, he was watching her catch her breath and thinking about how nice it would be to do that all day and the next day, just watch her. How the talking would be nice, instead of it just being the way they killed time between being pressed up against each other.

It was a dangerous position to be in.

He left the bed and started pulling on his clothes, and noted her watching him with disappointment. Whether that was for the clothes or his departure, he couldn't be certain.

"Logan…" she started, as he fiddled with his bowtie.

"Yeah, darlin'," he murmured, looking for his eye patch. When had that come off? Hadn't she ripped it off his face and thrown it at the wall?

"It's a stupid fucking disguise."

He'd expected something more serious. Something about Rogue or Kurt, maybe. And maybe, he'd hoped she would ask him to stay.

"I know."

"Everybody who has reason to know who Wolverine is, certainly already knows that Patch is Wolverine."

"I know that too."

She rolled her eyes at him and he hid a smile. More than the lengthy talks, or the fantastic screwing, her casual insults and their bickering made him feel a bit closer to her. It spoke to the fact that they'd had plenty of arguments before over the same stupid things. Maybe he spent more time with Raven than he thought. And maybe he shouldn't have expected her to say anything serious.

"You're a foolish old man," she thought necessary to inform him. He looked over and saw the eye patch dangling off her finger by its elastic, and he smirked as he made his way over.

"I'm sure it insults you even to be near me. Take it up with my claws next time we gotta beat the hell out of each other for whatever reason," he snorted, fixing the patch over his eye. On impulse, he bent down to kiss her. She didn't stop him.

They weren't naked anymore, at least he wasn't. And he wasn't planning to be in the near future. And she had kissed him back. And teased him. He wondered if she was lonely, or simply accepted that after this long they were more entwined than they'd ever really intended to be.

Probably some of both.

"See you around," she said when he stood.

"Don't blow up my bar," he said in parting.

He shut the door, but nonetheless heard her say that she wasn't making any promises.


End file.
